


The Hustle

by bleaker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:39:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8469151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleaker/pseuds/bleaker
Summary: A short ceasefire, a chance to make a little change.





	

“ _Aguamenti_.”

Crystal-clear water streamed into the lowball glass below from the end of a handsome spruce wand as though its owner had simply turned on the tap. He released the wand and it carried on filling glasses without him, floating in midair.

“We got a Dirty Merlin here,” he said, with a last violent rattle of the tarnished cocktail set in his left hand. With his other hand he was upending a dusty purple bottle over a wide snifter; it was smoking as he poured it but he seemed quite unconcerned. “Plum brandy.”

“Two pumpkin ciders. Flaming Butterbeer. Cream Soda Screamer — yeah, a double.” He slid these drinks across the bar to their recipients with a practiced ease.

Reaching out, he deftly picked his wand from the air, twirling it between three fingers. With a wordless tap, the waters zoomed away to the group of murmuring warlocks at the far corner of the bar.

“And last but not least,” he said with a wide, winning smile to the two witches sitting directly across from him, “Two rose waters for the ladies.”

Between them on the scrubbed bar he placed two delicate sherry glasses. From an ornate crystal bottle he poured a measure of light pink liquid into each.

_Floris folium_.

With a wordless wave of his wand over the glasses, two rose petals floated gently down through the air to rest on the surface of the water.

The two witches accepted the proffered glasses with two sly smiles of their own, and returned to the billiards table in the corner, trailing sweet-smelling clouds of purple cigarette smoke behind them.

Remus turned and slid the crystal bottle back in line with its fellows.

“Very impressive,” said a voice behind him.

A young man with shiny gold-blond hair had slid into one of the stools the two witches vacated. He flashed his pearly whites in what would have been a charming way, had his smile not lost all credibility to Remus long ago.

“Gilderoy,” Remus greeted coolly, planting his hands on the bar. “Can I get you anything?”

The bar had been one of his last refuges during holidays, as it was the only age-restricted venue in Diagon Alley, but—

“No birthday wishes?” Gilderoy asked. He leaned over the bar, closing the space between them until their faces were mere inches apart. He peered at Remus through the smoky gloom with what he clearly intended to be an alluring type of puppy-dog pout on his face. For someone who had shared a dormitory with Sirius Black for seven years, the smile wasn’t very convincing. “Surely now that I’m a fully qualified wizard all your objections have… gone up in smoke.”

He twirled his wand between two fingers, and it emitted a small, sad puff of green smoke into the air. Remus raised his eyebrows. Gilderoy frowned, and stuffed the wand back into his dragonhide hip holster.

“Glad you put that thing away before you hurt yourself,” said a voice behind Gilderoy.

It wasn’t far from what Remus had been about to say, but the tone was much less friendly. And, certainly the hand that had been placed on Gilderoy’s shoulder was not intended to be friendly at all.

Gilderoy shrugged off the hand and unsubtly brushed off his shoulder, staring at Sirius with such thinly-veiled contempt that it was almost worse than just telling him to bugger off. The fact was that every time he tried to coax something out of Remus besides sarcasm or placating smiles, Sirius Black managed to show up and ruin it for him. Besides Black’s horrid reputation, his family’s numerous scandals, and his own disinheritance, he was quite meddlesome; yet every time he arrived, the guarded look on Remus’s face cleared up like the sun breaking through the clouds. It was infuriating.

“If you don’t mind, Remus and I were just having a chat…” he said, making unsubtle “go away” motions with both hands.

“Looked more like you were having a chat and he was having a nap.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be the case if Remus stopped playing hard to get.”

Sirius grimaced, and opened his mouth to retort.

“Remus can speak for himself,” Remus cut in finally. It was one thing to allow Sirius to speak for him at school, but they all had. James may have been popular, he may have been a fantastic Quidditch player and a talented wizard, but he was the worst liar Remus had ever witnessed.

Sirius’s mouth snapped shut immediately, but the sour expression on his face only intensified.

“Just think about seventh year,” Gilderoy said in an undertone, ignoring Sirius’s lurking presence at his shoulder. “We had a good time patrolling the corridors, didn’t we?”

Remus gave him the most patronizing of smiles and leaned closer. “You forget to mention that I was overseeing your detentions, not training you as a prefect.”

Gilderoy’s smile only widened at that as he said in barely more than a whisper, “You didn’t treat it much like a detention, though.”

“And I hope those good memories keep you warm on cold nights,” Sirius interrupted again, this time hauling Gilderoy up by one arm, none too gently, and pushing him away from the bar. He rounded on Remus then, who had stepped away from the bar and was busying himself with cleaning an already-clean glass. “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem,” Remus said, not meeting Sirius’s eyes.

“Just tell him to bugger off, curse him bald or something, I don’t understand what your angle is here, keeping him around, slobbering all over you.”

“Don’t act like I’m enjoying the attention or something,” Remus snapped.

“Well, you must be. Or, what, you’re keeping him around as some kind of backup, in case—”

“Just shut up,” Remus said, slamming down the glass on the bar between them with more force than necessary. Several patrons looked over, and he produced a dusty bottle of butterbeer from underneath the bar so that he could cover by upending it sloppily into the glass. “I just don’t want to cause a scene at my job.” He lowered his voice. “You know it’s a miracle I have steady work as it is. Chris is a nice guy but personal drama is a hard line for him.” Sirius opened his mouth to argue and Remus held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to say, but be me for just a tiny second, okay, if you can? And imagine I’m the one with the Gringott’s trust fund, and the flat, and no real need for a job, and telling you I’ll take care of everything just because we’re shagging or— or, even just because we’re mates and I’d take care of you anyway. How would that make you feel?”

This wasn’t a new conversation for the two of them, not by a long shot. But Sirius struggled, as always, to find some way to argue. When he couldn’t come up with anything he just shrugged one shoulder and dropped the subject completely. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Remus said. He could have pushed it farther, but what was the point? He thought, somewhere deep down, perhaps Sirius was right that Gilderoy wasn’t ever going to give up unless Remus stopped being coy. And, deep, deep down he wondered if Sirius wasn’t right that Remus liked the attention. So many people gave Sirius attention that he found it a bother much of the time, but Remus wasn’t so lucky as to be that beautiful. “Soon as Mary’s in.”

Sirius huffed, but couldn’t say anything disparaging. Mary Macdonald was a sweet girl, though chronically late, absentminded, and rather sloppy. She hadn’t been the same since an incident with a Slytherin student in fifth year which nobody found polite to mention outright anymore. And Sirius wasn’t a monster, after all.

Mary arrived just fifteen minutes after the start of her shift, which was practically on time, and though she already smelled a bit like sherry when she arrived, she was as put-together as Remus had ever seen her, so he gave her a little mock-salute and hopped over the bar to join Sirius on the other side. The two commandeered the free billiards table near the two smoking witches Remus had served earlier; the witches whispered to one another and peered at he and Sirius as he bent over to rack up the balls. They didn’t resume their game until Sirius put a hand on Remus’s lower back and winked at them.

“Mark,” Remus whispered to Sirius.

Sirius glanced towards the door and nodded. “I’ll get you another drink.”

Sauntering back up to the bar, he took the stool next to the wizard who had just entered; he was an older bloke with salt and pepper hair and a smattering of facial hair. He wore dragonhide gloves and boots that Sirius recognized as being custom-made — they were embroidered with the initials of their maker, though the gloves were removed and stuffed carelessly into a cloak pocket before he could read which.

The wizard noticed Sirius eying him and gave him a little smirk. Sirius, who had purposefully not warn anything “nice” for many years, was wearing a dingy white t-shirt, oil-stained blue jeans, and a very old, very soft leather jacket.

“I’ll take a Firewhiskey, straight,” the wizard said, with the barest glance at Mary.

“The usual for me, Mary,” Sirius said, with a rap of his knuckles on the top of the bar.

Holding the bottle of Firewhiskey over a glass she said, “And for your… friend?”

Sirius looked towards the back of the bar at Remus, who was draining the last of the butterbeer he’d poured earlier and swaying in place a bit.

“Ah… let’s get him a pint as well.”

Mary slid the Firewhiskey across the bar and into the wizard’s waiting hand, and then busied herself filling two tankards.

“Don’t you think your… friend has had enough?” the wizard asked, eyeing Remus across the room.

Sirius shrugged. “Bloke’s here drinking for hours every day, just about. Grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and now just pisses it all away here. Kind of sad, eh?”

He snatched up the proffered pints, thanked Mary, and left the wizard to stare after him as he crossed the crowded room again.

“What’s he doing?” he murmured to Remus out of the side of his mouth as he handed him one of the foaming tankards.

Remus, who was taller and had better eyes than Sirius, looked towards the bar, where the older wizard was paying for his Firewiskey with a shiny gold galleon and waving away the offered change. “Mm… he’s coming to get a closer seat. Probably wants a better view of you.”

Sirius grunted. “Let’s just play.”

“You break then,” Remus slurred more loudly than necessary, pushing Sirius towards the end of the table.

The two played a rather sloppy, inexpert game of billiards. It was the kind of game that they would have played with James and Peter on a boys’ night out where it didn’t really matter who won or who lost. As the game went on, and as their collection of tankards — mostly Remus’s — grew, Remus’s playing ability got worse and worse until he was left to watch Sirius sinking the eight ball into a side pocket.

“All right, pay up,” Sirius said, sticking out his hand insistently. His collection of tankards might have been smaller, but his drinks had been much more potent, so his words were a bit slurred.

Remus shoved a handful of gold at Sirius, his expression quite sour, and Sirius jammed his winnings into his front pockets. He gave Remus a sort of jolly wave and made his way back up to the bar to get a final drink and settle his tab.

Swaying where he stood, Remus proceeded to rack up again. He was straightening up and turning to grab his drink when he hit something unexpectedly warm and solid.

“Hello,” said the wizard who Sirius had spoken to earlier. He had a silky, refined voice. It reminded him of the way that eleven-year-old Sirius had spoken before all of his high-society manners had come crumbling down in the plebeian company of James and Remus and Peter.

“Hi,” he said. He hadn’t realized how tall this wizard was until just now, looking up into his face.

“You shouldn’t let little boys take advantage of you,” the wizard said, nodding his head towards the bar where Sirius now sat.

Remus cracked a broad, drunken smile and said, leaning forward, “Then who should I let take advantage of me?”

The wizard raised his eyebrows and grinned back with a warm, predatory grin. Remus felt the same swoop in his lower stomach as he did when Sirius pinned him up against their kitchen counter. Suddenly, the wizard moved away from him and snatched up Sirius’s abandoned pool cue.

“Let me give you a chance to win back your money,” said the wizard.

Remus chewed on his lower lip and thought for a moment. Then he said, sourly, “I’ve none left to gamble. Lost all ten galleons to him.”

The wizard laughed a tad derisively. “I’ve no need for your money. Only your company.”

Remus could feel the blush rising in his cheeks. “Well then, good luck, er—”

“Dorian,” the wizard said as he chalked his cue, not without some finesse. “And your name?”

“James,” Remus said, the lie rolling off his tongue as smoothly as it had a hundred times before.

He found quite quickly that Dorian was much better at billiards than most people were. But then again, so was he. Dorian quickly sunk most of the stripes; he casually threw his expensive cloak over the back of a nearby chair and dabbed sweat from his face with a handkerchief. It had been an immensely hot summer day, and the small, smoky bar was sweltering even in the late evening. Remus had unbuttoned the first four buttons on his shirt, which didn’t go unnoticed by Dorian. Nor by Sirius, who was straining rather intently to see glimpses of the game from his seat.

Remus was behind, but all of a sudden his drunken movements became much less jerky. All of the scratching, the missing, the short-shots stopped. His giggling and flirting ceased as he concentrated. A drop of sweat clung to the tip of his nose as he worked, an expressionless Dorian standing to the side as he watched Remus sink ball after ball.

“Corner pocket,” Remus said, gesturing towards the far side of the table with his cue. He slurred a bit for effect, but he sunk the shot with little effort.

Dorian’s face was rather red and his expression steely as he dropped the stack of galleons on the table, snatched up his cloak, and stormed out of the bar without a backwards look at Remus or Sirius. Remus carefully slid the coins into the front pocket of his button-up and gathered all of the empty tankards in his arms to deposit on the bar.

“One day this scam’ll be coming back to ya,” Mary said with a disapproving shake of her head, sending the tankards zooming into the back with a wave of her wand.

Sirius grinned at her and fished a shiny galleon from his pocket.

“I’ll not take bribery, Sirius Black,” she said warningly, but her bright red painted lips were curved into the same indulgent smile that he seemed to coax out of every woman.

“Ta,” he said, hopping up.

“Til tomorrow, love,” Remus said, leaning over the bar to peck Mary’s cheek. He added a second galleon to the one Sirius had left and disappeared into the crowd before she could protest.

Sirius had already ascended the stairs outside the bar and begun walking down the street. Remus passed the secondhand store above the bar and Florean Fortescue’s next door, but it wasn’t until he approached the alleyway next to Flourish and Blotts that he caught up to Sirius. It wasn’t abnormal for Sirius to get into a snit and not want to talk for a while, so Remus ignored it and wordlessly passed Sirius to ascend the rickety outdoor stairs to the front door of their flat. Sirius followed silently behind him, standing rather close — Remus’s hands shook as he selected the right key and unlocked the door.

They had barely entered when Sirius reached out silently and grasped Remus’s wrist, spinning him around.

“Sirius—”

Sirius had closed the door behind them, plunging them into darkness. He pushed Remus up against the door and kissed him hard, swallowing the rest of Remus’s words before they were fully formed. His shaking hands fumbled with the buttons on Remus’s shirt until Remus pushed him back and ripped the mostly-unbuttoned shirt over his head; the galleons in the front pocket exploded everywhere, skittering loudly across the hardwood floor.

“Take off your jacket,” he said, or maybe begged — his voice was little more than a plaintive mewl. This hadn’t happened in so long; not the sex, that was regular enough, but the raw _wanting_ , Sirius sucking on his neck, Sirius’s long, slim fingers digging into his sides, the snap and grind of Sirius’s hips against his as they moved together.

He had to pull ineffectively a few times before Sirius finally threw the jacket to the floor to join Remus’s shirt. Remus could finally feel the warm, wet skin of Sirius’s back through the thin t-shirt, could feel the heat radiating off him as he dug in his fingernails.

“ _Oh_ ,” he gasped, as Sirius nipped his collarbone. “ _Ah_ ,” he moaned, Sirius’s thumb grazing his nipple. “Sirius, _please_ ,” he said breathily when a playful hand ghosted over his lower stomach.

Sirius gave in, unbuttoning Remus’s trousers, albeit torturously slowly.

“That bloke at the bar was getting awfully close,” Sirius whispered in Remus’s ear. Remus still couldn’t see a thing, but he could hear the sly smile Sirius must have been wearing. He groaned, pushing his hips forward, but Sirius moved his hand away again.

“Yes,” he ground out. Teasing was so _unfair_ , and Sirius so very good at it.

“He liked you.”

“He liked you first,” Remus said, breathing hard.

Sirius scoffed. “He liked thinking I wanted him.”

Remus felt a strange pang when he thought about Sirius sitting at the bar with Dorian, with Dorian’s hungry eyes raking over him, and a quiet little moan escaped his lips.

“But he _wanted_ you,” Sirius said.

His hips gave an involuntary snap forwards into the empty air.

“He was trying to win me,” Remus murmured. “Told him you took all my money.”

Sirius laughed; it was such a _Sirius_ laugh, so loud and bright. “He wouldn’t know what to do with you.” He finally, blissfully, slid his hand down, down, and curled his long, graceful fingers around Remus’s dick. “He couldn’t tame the wolf. Could he?”

Remus shook his head fervently, though he might have agreed to anything in that moment. “Sirius—”

Once again Sirius swallowed the rest of his words, but this time the kiss was utterly raw and possessive and jealous and searingly hot. He pulled back, but barely, their lips still touching when he spoke— “I’m yours, Remus.”

“God, please—”

“Tell me you’re mine,” he said in such a low, gravelly voice that it was almost a growl. But underneath the teasing, underneath the heat and the wanting there was an innocent, plaintive _need_.

Remus slid one hand into Sirius’s hair and grabbed a handful. He pulled on it very gently, coaxing Sirius’s head back, and pressed his lips against Sirius’s neck with none of the same feverishness.

“I’m yours,” he whispered. “I love you.” He scraped his teeth ever so gently across Sirius’s throat and ground his hips forward. “I need—”

Sirius swiped his thumb over Remus’s cockhead and laughed when the rest of the words died in the air. “I know what you need.”

He took his hands away then, but the torturous loss of contact was only for a moment, as he’d dropped down to his knees and he flicked his tongue just where his thumb had been a sec ago. Remus moaned; it was so good, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He slid both hands back into Sirius’s hair and pulled experimentally. Sirius obediently opened his mouth and Remus began to thrust shallowly in and out, his breathing coming in high, sharp gasps.

Sirius pulled up with a sloppy, wet _pop_ , resting his moist forehead against Remus’s thigh. Remus groaned as he uselessly tried to pull Sirius’s head back to where it was. He at first got nothing more than the barest hint of Sirius’s lips ghosting across the wet head of his dick, feather-light.

“Come,” Sirius implored him softly, and then there was the blissful velvety feeling of being swallowed all the way down, the wonderful convulsion of Sirius’s throat muscles around him as he pulled desperately on two handfuls of hair. He couldn’t help but to obey.

“ _Lumos_.”

Remus blinked and groaned as the sudden light shone into his eyes.

“D’you think Mary’s right?” Sirius asked.

Groaning again, Remus pushed Sirius away and stumbled off towards the sofa, abandoning what remained of his clothing and banishing some errant takeaway containers with his wand before curling up on it. “Don’t talk to me about ethics until you’ve cleaned my come off your chin.”

Sirius snorted. He cast the wandlight around the room and collected the abandoned clothing from the floor, depositing it in the bedroom. It wasn’t long before Remus’s plaintive whines came from the front room, wheedling Sirius to put off tidying and join him on the sofa.

“Mm, if I don’t clean up, the flat’ll look like a Hippogriff paddock within a week.”

“I clean,” Remus protested, but it was rather useless as they both knew it to be a lie.

“Shut up,” Sirius said. He had rejoined Remus in the living room, his wand still held aloft; Remus threw a protective arm over his eyes— then, “ _Nox_.”

They were plunged back into welcome darkness and he felt the sofa sag as Sirius crawled on to join him.


End file.
